


i was born sick (but i love it)

by obeylarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Harry, Death, Fingering, Fluff, Gay, Louis is too, Love, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Okay go, Promises, Smut, Top Louis, and slightly bigger, being gay is illegal, but first read the fic, go listen, harry - Freeform, harry is fetus, it's really good, larry stylinson - Freeform, loosely based off of take me to church, louis - Freeform, louis tops because he's older, louisandharry, no rimming sadly, sex under a bridge, you know the song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obeylarry/pseuds/obeylarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Harry live in Russia, where trust is only found in each other. (loosely based off of the song Take Me To Church - Hozier)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i was born sick (but i love it)

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment your thoughts!! It's only the second fic my co-author and I have written on this site so feedback is greatly appreciated. Triggering might occur if you're sensitive to suicide or death, so proceed with caution.

It's not a crime to do such things as open the creaky bedroom window of the old house and throw a leg over the windowsill. It's hardly illegal to drop to the ground on the balls of feet that throb with the impact of a two story drop. It's not forbidden to wander around the streets of Russia at an inhumane hour, hands in the pockets of a coat that provides minimum heat.

As Louis knows that his actions in the near future will have him tortured if discovered, he also knows that, at the moment, he is doing nothing wrong to the public eye. No, even as he shimmies through the opening of the old fence outside of town, he knows that his actions are innocent.

Louis Tomlinson is committing a crime, still. There's a crime in the way he longs for attention from the same sex; there's a crime in how he looks at a girl and feels nothing of the sexual sort. His thoughts are the poison that will kill him sooner or later. It is the incurable sickness that lingers under his skin and seeps into his mind until he is hating himself for it and pleading to be normal. Despite the grim reality of it, Louis is well aware of this fact. He will die for this. He will be found and he will be begging for death by the time the militia is done with him.

But what's the purpose in an unhappy life? Wouldn't a life full of satisfied desire prove preferable over a long, unhappy one? Louis' death hangs over him like an omen, but he is welcoming the inevitable future with opened arms.

Louis is a criminal in the country he lives in, but he is only experiencing love.

Love is all he feels when he approaches the boy waiting for him, a smile on his full lips as his eyes meets Louis'. Yet, he is a criminal, a danger to the strict laws imposed by the Russian government.

"Hi," Harry greets with fond exploding from his eyes. He welcomes Louis into an embrace that warms him up more than his feeble coat ever could. This is what makes risking Louis' life worth it. The lack of comfort he receives from his daily life is made up for the affection Harry offers him.

Louis treats the boy with care, knowing that Harry's bravery measures to far more than his own. Louis himself has eighteen years to his name, but Harry is only sixteen. He's still a child. A child that has prematurely discovered his sense of self and has owned up to the difference that separates the two of them from the otherwise straight community.

"Hey, Haz. Everything okay?" Louis asks, a hint of worry filling his voice as he notices the puffiness of Harry's red-rimmed eyes. He's been crying recently.

Harry seems to ponder the pros and cons of telling the truth, and, upon discovering that the pros outweigh the cons, he rests himself in the safety of Louis' embrace. His entire body is limp, trusting Louis with his safety.

"I hate this. I hate hiding," he sniffs into the fabric on Louis' shoulder. Louis presses a comforting hand onto Harry's curly hair, knowing that the act of twirling the locks between his fingers soothes him.

"I know, baby, but this is only the beginning. After we collect enough money to get a plane ticket, we will leave this place. Holding hands on the street in public, sounds nice, doesn't it? I will make that happen. I will get us out of here," Louis promises with enough certainty to make his eyes water. They live in a city that preaches about hell, but the citizens are clueless to the fact that this is hell. It is hell to hide innocent love within the dark hours of the night. Hell is what Louis feels when him and Harry can't bring their eyes to meet in public. It is hell for Louis to see Harry, once so bright and loving, to begin to shut down as reality suffocates him. The light that once shone so bright in the schoolyard on the day Louis first saw the boy, dressed in his dreadful uniform with the buttons done up all the way, is dimming. Louis fears everyday that he's going to sneak out only to be greeted by Harry's limp body hanging by a noose from a tree.

The majority of logic in this hell states that Louis and Harry are cockroaches to be exterminated. Louis and Harry are the science experiments that went wrong. If Harry committed suicide after having his sexuality outed, no one would blink an eye. Logic states that this boy, the very same person who Louis has seen help a fallen girl in a crowd to her feet when no one else would, the one who saved up money for an entire year by working at the local bakery to buy his mum a Christmas present, should die for his feelings that he has become prey to. Without Harry being a citizen in this town, the place would be utterly dull, ripped of the youthful light that once walked the streets unnoticed. Harry is the only diamond in this mine, but he's being chipped away by the constant hammering of the pickaxe. Louis wants to scream and cry simultaneously because of it.

The crime in his actions lie in the gentle way he caresses Harry's cheek with affection not found within the range of a friendship. He is breaking the law by bringing their lips together, an act that would have them killed in a heartbeat. They are only kissing under the dim moonlight, but the people that murder innocents have the audacity to put a negative label on Louis and Harry.

"You haven't been sleeping," Harry states, the words a far stretch from a question. The skin under his eyes that is stained with blue and the bags that hug his eyelashes are proof enough.

"No. I haven't," Louis answers honestly, his thumb brushing the beads of water off of Harry's bottom eyelashes.

In the dark of the night, when the sun has abandoned the side of the earth that they call home, Louis finds himself wide awake. The sleepiness tends to haunt him during the daytime, usually at church or at school, and then continues to taunt him at night when his eyes physically will not close. It's weakening him, he knows, and the only cure is to escape the town that suppresses who they truly are. That, or find a way to cure himself of this putrid _illness_ he has fallen victim to.

"Remember when Jenny from science came to school without a bra?" Louis smiles, attempting to rescue Harry from his threatening thoughts by surrounding him in happier memories. A comical approach will hopefully mend Harry's inner wounds.

"Everyone in the class was hard from her nipples but me and you," Harry chuckles, that light shining through his emerald eyes once more. Louis would do anything to see that light again.

"That's when I began to notice that you might have been different from everyone else," Louis says while tickling Harry's side. The giggle that erupts is a sharp contrast to the grey reality of the town. They live in black and white and the only way to add vivid colors is to be together. When accompanied by Harry, Louis is suddenly aware of the green in his eyes and the red of his lips.

"And then," Harry continues, his arms around Louis' waist, "You kept leaving hints. I can recall a day that you entered the bakery and asked for two donuts, both with blue icing. You had mentioned thinking about getting a blue and pink one, but that the two blues seemed to suit you more."

Louis pauses the recollection of memories to kiss along Harry's jaw, the warmth of his skin sending shivers down Louis' spine.

"I ate those donuts and came back for more. Imagine my surprise when the display shelves were full of them. Not a pink donut in sight," he laughs. Their form of communication had been dangerous, but the end result proved worth the trouble.

"And then you made up some excuse about delivering mail to Mr. Harvey, my neighbor. You claimed that it showed up on your doorstep by mistake. Walked me home and kept talking about those damn blue donuts-"

It's then that a twig snaps in the vicinity of their embrace, knocking the couple instinctively apart from each other. Upon further inspection, the sound is deemed to be a squirrel munching on pine cones and tossing the gnawed leftovers onto the ground. Louis runs a hand through his hair and chuckles, immensely relieved. His heart sends a heavy, nervous sensation through his body despite the lack of danger in the small rodent.

"It's okay," Louis breathes, his words creating a cloud of vapor as they leave his lips. Harry is startled also, his nose and ears red from the cold. Louis knows that, while the night is still young, the time has been spoiled by the prospect of being caught.

"Hey, hey... we're safe. You're safe." Louis closes the distance between them and welcomes the boy into his arms. Harry writhes out of his arms as if in pain. The previous light, Louis notices with a painful twist in his stomach, has left Harry's eyes entirely. He is a walking corpse without the happiness that Louis is able to scrounge up. The irony lays in the way happiness is only achieved through the thing that threatens to kill him.

"I've got to go home," Harry drones lifelessly. Louis' heart might just deflate.

He watches as the boy turns from him without a last look and disappears within the thick line of the trees.

...

The next few days consisting of chilling rain prevents them from meeting. Each day creates a deeper sense of dread inside of Louis. Harry could be dead now; the hypocritical Russian militia could be on their way to intercept Louis' morning routes to eliminate the threat of liking the same gender. Heaven forbid.

Louis uses a black Sharpie to mark minuscule dots under key letters in the Styles' family newspaper after the rain clears. As a way of earning money for him and Harry, Louis took the unwanted job as a mail boy. (He might have lied about Mr. Harvey's mail mistakingly landing on his doorstep.)

The dots are hardly noticeable, so small that it could easily pass as ink splotches that were an error in printing. Harry, however, will know to put the letters together to form a message.

_one water running_

Any average local would have difficulty deciphering the message, even if they somehow notice the misplaced dots, but Louis knows that Harry will understand. They'll meet at one o'clock at the only source of running water left in town. The other streams and lakes have fallen victim to the cold weather and frozen over. Their science class did a project on the natural minerals in the creek at the beginning of the school year, which involved visiting the water and taking samples. Harry had stood to the side the entire time, Louis remembers. The boy hadn't know any of the older students, having taken the advanced science in the grade above him due to his intellectual superiority.

Louis catches sight of Mr. Harvey giving him a grimace through the drunken slump of his wrinkled face. The man has lived past his prime and only continues to live for the satisfaction of making everyone uncomfortable around him. Louis' mom had warned him at a young age to stay away from the man, for reasons unknown to Louis.

Upon tossing the newspaper onto the safety of Harry's porch, Louis stops his bike by kicking his foot out onto the pavement.

"Good morning Mr. Harvey," he greets cautiously. The bike is gently set onto the ground as he carries the newspaper to the raggedy gate guarding Mr. Harvey's lawn. It would seem a bit rude to toss the newspaper onto the porch and leave the old man to pick it up himself. Louis has manners, after all.

"Brother..." the man slurs. It is only eight thirty in the morning, but he is clearly wasted if he is greeting Louis as a sibling.

Louis clicks the latch of the gate open and steps onto the property, expecting Mr. Harvey to stop his drunken mumbling any moment now. Louis prepares to dodge a flying beer bottle.

"I'm going to set this on the railing, okay?" He speaks tentatively, as if calming a wild animal. With the way the elder smells, though, perhaps he would fit into that category.

Louis receives a lack of response as he sets the rolled up newspaper onto the wooden post, the white paint pealing and chipping as a way of escaping the once-polished wood.

"Neal...brother.... Neal...." Mr. Harvey chants as he rocks back and forth. Louis recognizes the act as a way of coping with anxiety. Louis has admittedly caught himself doing the same recently.

"Your brother, Neal?" Louis asks, curiosity getting the better of him. Perhaps the man wasn't referring to Louis as a brother. Mr. Harvey hasn't had any living relatives since Louis has lived in the town, though, and Louis has been a resident since birth.

At the mention of Neal, Mr. Harvey snaps out of his trance, his eyes widening as he notices Louis for the first time since his arrival. His face quickly morphs into an expression of anger, his veins threatening to pop out of his neck.

"Get off of my property! Fucking waste of air, your generation! You ruin everything!" He screams, reaching for the neck of his empty beer bottle. Louis takes the action as a cue to leave.

"Bastards! Fucking bastards! To hell, all of you!" Mr. Harvey rants, spit flying from the gap of his dentures. Louis thinks that the man might have a heart attack.

He latches the gate back properly and sits down onto the cushion of his bike, the handlebars worn from the constant use. Louis backpedals to the way he came, having reached the end of the cul-de-sac.

The front door of Harry's house is opened due to the loud disturbance, Harry's messy hair peeking out from inside the home. He begins to smile at the sight of Louis before the boy notices Mr. Harvey observing them closely. The old man's eyes are squinted despite the thin-framed glasses perched on his nose. For a moment Louis dreads the possibility of Mr. Harvey suspecting their relationship. Even a tiny, misplaced smile could end everything and Mr. Harvey would undoubtedly have no problem ruining their lives by snitching.

Harry smoothes his shirt, wrinkled from sleep, and clears his throat as he bends down to pick up the coded newspaper.

He hurries back inside without daring to shoot another glance in Louis' direction.

...

"What do you think England will be like?" Harry wonders quietly in the crook of Louis' arm. His curls tickle Louis' cheek, but Louis makes no move to rearrange them.

They lay under the abandoned bridge on the outskirts of town, the shore of the creek providing a flat area to rest the blanket that Louis brought. The chilly weather makes Louis wish that he had thought to bring another blanket, but if they cuddle close enough, the shared body warmth is satisfactory.

"You've decided on England, then?" Louis smiles at the information, imagining Harry sipping a cup of tea in a public shop. He would be able to reach out and take the boy's hand when he pleased, no eyes lingering on the way that two boys show affection. They would be a proper couple, not hidden partners that steal moments during the time that everyone else slumbers.

"I don't know. It just seems fitting. Anywhere other than here would be perfect, though," Harry sighs, nosing at Louis' side.

"If you want England, we'll go to England," Louis promises, a sense of worry seeping into his mind as he realizes that the promises he's made are piling up. He fully intends on carrying them all out, of course, but the amount of difficulty to do so makes his head throb.

A thick silence that threatens to suffocate the pair follows. Harry's index finger traces a shape against Louis' belly button.

Louis recognizes the shape as a tightened noose. His blood runs cold.

"Louis, I'm so scared," Harry whimpers, and for a moment he doesn't process the words. Harry is drawing a noose. A boy at Harry's age shouldn't have thoughts that involve a noose.

"Why are you scared, love? What are you scared of?" Louis asks, trying to conceal the dread in his voice with the flimsy pet name. Louis' own answer is on the tip of his tongue. He's been frightened and tense since he realized that Jenny's nipples didn't make him hard and he began to realize that something wasn't normal with him. He's not scared of being gay, though. No, he's scared out of his mind of the Russian government looming over him every hour of every day, their guns shooting first and asking questions later. Louis is afraid of the dark part in Harry that is every bit as dangerous as the government. Hell, maybe even more so because Harry can run away from this country but he can hardly run away from his own mind. Those shattered pieces will be left for mending after escaping this hell. And Louis is scared for Harry because of it.

Louis longs for a place that will allow him to not be so scared anymore. Any life full of constant fear is a life full of dread.

"I'm scared of people. They have the ability to give you anything. Abusive, inhumane humans hold the power here, Lou. However, the people with the power will snatch it away from you without a second thought just for the sheer purpose of hurting you. Any ounce of your own happiness, anything you think is real, can be stolen from you in the blink of an eye. That happiness that you believe to be your own isn't, because you don't control it. They can easily shred it and twist it until they're happy. You'll be mortified, but what do they care? You'll be begging for mercy, but that's what they want. We're victims to the reality of life and we're forced to be content with the resources they throw at us. We can't control our own lives, Louis, and that terrifies the hell out of me. I feel like I'm under a microscope all the time." Harry curls further into Louis' side as if he yearns to take shelter there.

Louis finds that his mouth is dry, his voice physically not working. He's speechless and terrified and Harry is only sixteen but he's thinking too much. Louis himself thinks too much and they're only holding onto feeble promises that Louis knows deep down have minimal probability of occurring.

Louis flips them over and holds onto Harry with everything he has. Harry squeaks as Louis squeezes him into his arms but the tight grip gives Harry something to hold onto, something, if anything, that he knows is constant and steady. Their lives might be in the hands of others but for right now Harry is in Louis' arms and the smell of his shampoo makes Louis believe that everything might be okay.

He knows, though, that there is no pattern to the way the cards will fold, no way to read the opponent's face when the opponent isn't one person. The opponent is every resident in the town and every counter move is from a different, inconsistent direction. The cards will fold in the way fate commands them, and Louis feels an even larger weight on his shoulder as he realizes that fate, too, controls their actions.

"The people of the militia don't know what they're doing. All they know is to obey whatever command the people in charge send. All of the humor and joy seems to be dictated by them." Louis thinks aloud. Harry would doubt Louis' confidence if he didn't add to Harry's speech and Louis can't have Harry second guessing the only person consistent in his life.

"The terrifying part of it all is that the relevancy of people relies on the existence of others. How does a person win against a battle of people if everyone is strong enough to conquer the other? The people of the militia have all of the power, yet they abuse it," Harry speaks, the weight of many years beyond his own laced in his words. Louis absently wonders the worth of this knowledge.

Louis kisses Harry's head because it's the only thing left to do and he's afraid of the power of words on Harry.

Harry responds to Louis' affection with his lips on Louis' own, his hands on Louis' thighs to keep the two closer together. The boy's leg slots with Louis' thigh, his body shuddering as he ruts against the denim.

Harry is to full hardness in mere seconds, reminding Louis of his lack of experience. His words suggest a thought process far too advanced for the age of sixteen, but his body is an example of his youth. Harry is already desperate to be touched.

"Not here, baby," Louis declines with difficulty as the boy's hands fool with the buckle of Louis' belt. His own cock is thickening with the way Harry is grinding against it. They can't fuck, though, not here and not now. Maybe when they're in England and safe, but not when it's freezing and they're sheltered under a bridge.

Harry whimpers, his hand cupping Louis' growing bulge. Louis groans and, okay, they'll definitely have sex in England.

"Please," Harry whispers, the words creating a fog that washes over Louis' face. His green eyes are begging for intimacy, his lips puckered into a pout.

"No one followed us out here. We made sure of it. As soon as we leave, though, we're in danger again. Now, however, right here, we are safe. At least, as safe as we'll ever be. Don't you want that control? They can't stop us here. Every decision is our own." Harry makes his point by putting Louis' hand on his bum.

"And I want you," he continues, the tears in his eyes the only sign of the breaking pieces inside of him. Other than that hint of weakness, Harry looks strong. He is strong. Louis knows the extent of how lost he feels, how difficult it is to stand behind something that you discovered in yourself only a few months ago.

"We could be dead tomorrow. So why not?" Harry rants, his teeth gritted in anger at the force preventing their relationship. "Why wait? It's not like we have anything else to live for."

There it is. The words are out before either of them can process the confession. Louis knows that Harry is struggling, but to hear him openly say how hopeless he feels makes Louis sick to his stomach.

"Don't say that," Louis snaps, not meaning to. He wants Harry to be able to talk to him, but there's only so much Louis himself can take. This anger, this fear, it is suffocating. He needs a release.

"Shhh..." Louis hushes even though Harry hasn't said anything else. He rushes to mend the sad look on Harry's face. "I'm sorry... you just can't say things like that, okay?"

And then Louis is overwhelmed with anger. He's fed up with watching Harry disintegrate in front of his eyes, he's tired of being the innocent one in the situation yet being the one hunted. He shouldn't have to apologize to Harry for not having any reason to live, because it's not his fault nor the fault of Harry. Harry didn't choose to have his choices stripped from his life, the happiness chipped away into nothing.

At this point, Louis only has one card left to play.

"Are you okay with using spit as lube?"

...

"You have to tell me if it hurts too much," Louis instructs, his thumb brushing a stray curl out of Harry's eyes. Harry looks absolutely thrilled, his cheeks turning red and his teeth digging into his lip. Louis thinks he looks absolutely beautiful; he whispers as much into the chilled air.

"I will. Promise." Harry's hand, chilly as a result of the weather, wraps around Louis' and brings it to his lips. At first Louis is positive that Harry is going to kiss his palm, but the purpose is far more sensual.

Harry sucks Louis' first three fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the trimmed fingernails. There's dark circles under his eyes that reveal the lack of sleep the boy has gotten lately and the amount of stress that prevents him from receiving that sleep. Louis wants to bury Harry in his heart where it's warm and full of love. He wants to take Harry away and give him what he deserves as a person. He's so young-

"You've got to stop looking at me like I'm a broken toy, Louis," Harry speaks suddenly after Louis' fingers are slick with spit. He's immensely aware of Harry's body, his erection pressing into Louis' thigh, his slow breathing, and his sad, defensive eyes that beg for safety.

Louis wasn't aware of his expression while staring at Harry. He definitely didn't stare at Harry with pity on purpose.

"I'm sor-" He begins before Harry clashes their lips together with enough force to bruise. Harry reaches to the space between them to unbutton his trousers and shimmy them to his mid-thighs, his pants not tight enough to stay hugged around his waist and are taken down with his jeans.

Now, Louis has seen Harry naked before. The two of them have had their fair share of blow jobs and rushed hand jobs, most of which took place at night while being pressed against the trunk of a tree.

Tonight feels different. Having sex is a thing entirely different from touching each other with hands or mouths. This is a declaration of Harry's affection for Louis and Louis' affection for Harry. A blow job's purpose is pleasure, but the act of sex involves completely and entirely giving oneself to another. The love in their eyes and the thumping of their hearts as the beats sync and their limbs begin to shake. Being so connected in a way that only they know. The others, the heteronormatives don't belive it's real, but it is, and it's powerful.

Their love is entirely nocturnal; the affection doesn't extend to the moments of the day consisting of daylight. After tonight, though, their love will have conquered territory never achieved before.

"Because I'm not," Harry blurts, his hand guiding Louis' fingers to his revealed bum. His eyes reflect the proverbial fire that is ignited with the essence of anger.

"I can't have you looking like that. I can't have you doubting me." Louis nods, understanding Harry's view on the situation. He gasps as his fingers make contact with Harry's skin.

"I won't," he vows, adding yet another promise to the growing list. "And I don't, Harry. I don't doubt you at all. You're the strongest person I know."

Harry uses the burst of confidence to press the tip of Louis' index into himself, closing his eyes at the sensation. Louis knows that Harry is a virgin, he himself has yet to perform the act. However, he doesn't know-

"Have you ever fingered yourself before?" He whispers, Harry's eyes finding his once again. The intimacy in them makes Louis weak and he's suddenly glad for Harry's guidance in pumping Louis' single finger in and out for him.

Harry nods, his eyes shutting once again. Louis doesn't know if he's unable to keep them open due to pain or pleasure. He hopes the latter.

"Once-" Harry gasps as Louis' knuckle nudges his rim. "I had to know if I liked it, if I was genuinely gay or just into some fetish- fuck, do that again."

Louis presses his lips to Harry's collarbone as he swirls his finger in a circle again, reveling in how warm and tight Harry is, how fucking lovely he is, even in his most private places.

"And did you like it?" Louis asks as Harry's hand leaves Louis' fingers to do their own work. His fists, instead grip desperately onto the fabric of Louis' coat, his head falling into the span of Louis' shoulder. Louis is unable but to shower Harry with kisses, worshiping his body in the way that it should be. Harry indulges in the pleasure, his body pressing further into Louis' lips.

"Two. Please, do two," Harry begs instead of answering. Louis beckons with his finger in response, earning a muffled yelp from Harry. He quickly covers up the act by planting innocent kisses to Harry's forehead.

"Yes, Louis, I liked it," Harry rushes to answer, knowing what Louis wants without needing an explanation. "I came so hard. I made a mess while you were on my mind, making me come that hard, and was barely even able to keep quiet, nearly screaming. Now, if you would kindly put another finger in my arse."

Louis smirks, obliging without requiring further invitation. Harry releases a string of curse words into Louis' neck, his filthy words causing Louis to chase his own arrousal and grind down onto Harry's thigh. The affection Louis is giving to him seems to be calming his otherwise erratic breathing, Harry's hand guiding Louis' lips to various parts of his face.

He soon discovers that scissoring the two fingers buried in Harry's bum pulls an absolutely delightful reaction out of Harry. The boy shifts his bum down to meet the pressure, his lips lazily placing kisses on Louis' cheek in return for Louis' loving attention.

"Are you okay?" Louis asks despite the sheer pleasure written on Harry's face.

"I'd be even better if you use that middle finger of yours," Harry replies cheekily. Louis is oddly turned on with the way Harry uses his body for comfort as he's worked open. Harry's hands find themselves under Louis' shirt, his thumbs ghosting over his nipples. He has most likely gotten precome on Louis and his nails are now scratching marks onto Louis' skin, but Louis can't find it in himself to mind.

Harry is the one to end the constant thrust of Louis' wrist, pulling the three fingers out when he's had enough.

"I'm ready. Get inside me, please, before I come." Harry seems lost in the bliss, his words coming out slower than usual, his eyes glossy and his hair disheveled.

The boy spits into his hand as Louis tugs his own clothes down his legs, the material bunching at his ankles. Louis is messing with his twisted pants when Harry grips him into his hand and, oh. The pants can wait.

Upon getting drunk off of pleasuring Harry, Louis wasn't aware of how badly he needed his own physical contact. The attention Harry gives him as he pumps the shaft distracts Louis from the task at hand. He isn't under the bridge anymore; he is no longer living in the hell of his hometown. No, Louis is home. Harry is home.

Louis is overwhelmed with emotion and is incapable of bottling it up anymore.

"I love you," He gasps as Harry lifts his chin for a kiss. Reality sets in and Louis can feel his cheeks being flushed with heat as he realizes that they haven't said those words yet.

Harry freezes, but before Louis can apologize for moving too fast or try to fix the situation, Harry is crying out as he grips the base of his cock. His eyes pinch shut once more and he takes deep breaths through his nose, clearly trying in vain to concentrate.

Louis' chin might just hit the ground.

"Did you- Harry, did you almost come from that?" He stutters, his dick perking in interest. Harry nearly orgasmed from Louis confessing his love.

"Louis- fuck me. Now, before I can't hold it anymore," Harry grits, his cock red and angry at being denied an orgasm.

Louis lines himself up at Harry's entrance, his slicked fingers guiding himself in until Harry is nearly in tears and his hip bones brush against the curve of Harry's thighs.

"Harry, you have to talk to me-" Louis groans, the feeling of something so tight, so hot, around him dimming his senses until all he is aware of is Harry. Harry and his wet eyelashes, his quiet whimpers, his bitten lips.

"I'm okay, hell, I'm fucking amazing," Harry sighs, swiveling his hips in chase of the feeling of being full, full of Louis.

Louis takes the tight grip of Harry's free hand on his bum as a cue to move faster. He quickens his pace until he sees stars. Every thrust forward nails Harry's prostate. Harry can't help but to let out a long string of muffled whines and whimpers.

"And, Louis?" Harry breathes, his eyes opening in difficulty. He continues without needing a response. Despite the cold air around them, Louis feels sweat begin to pool at the bottom of his spine.

"I love you, too." Harry confesses while simultaneously letting go of his tight grip on his cock. He's spurting his load onto their chests, his face contorted in pleasure.

Louis grazes his teeth over Harry's jawline as he spills into the boy, their noises half-heartedly muffled.

"That is something to live for," Louis gasps, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow. Harry looks absolutely wrecked under him.

Harry doesn't answer. Louis can feel his heart racing under his palm, his ragged breathing against his skin. He vows then to give Harry something to live for. Even if they never get out of this place, Harry will never doubt a reason to live. Louis pulls out and tugs Harry onto his chest.

They lay under the bridge a while after that, the silence holding their secrets and fears. Louis runs his fingers through Harry's hair until he's positive that the boy's heart is beating at a normal level.

The price of their love hangs over Louis' head like an axe, but he can't find himself to contain his feelings.

It's chaos and it's the fault of the most cynical of creatures.

...

Something is wrong.

Louis hasn't seen Harry in days. Not at school, not in church, not on his weekly rounds, and not in the bakery. He walks the halls of the school he is enrolled in and tries to hide the sickness he feels. His stomach threatens to empty its contents onto the tiles floors.

Four days have passed painfully slowly before Louis catches sight of the familiar brown curls in the crowd at church. People, including himself, actively greet the fellow members of the congregation, fake smiles planted on their faces. His knees nearly give out with relief.

Louis is unable to help himself as his feet operate solely on their own and stop at Harry's side. The boy is one of the few people not participating in the friendly chatter that occurs before service begins.

"Good morning, Harry. I haven't seen you at school lately," he comments, choosing a tone he would use if talking to a classmate. To the public, that is all they are to each other.

Harry is startled at the direct conversation. His eyes scan the room, as if confirming his thoughts. They are having a conversation, in public, during the daytime. His expression is quickly mulled over to resemble an eager church-goer, although his eyes focus on the evidence of the lack of sleep Louis has received.

Louis is well aware of the bags and the circles stress has left under his eyes and shivers when he thinks about how weak he looks. His hair has begun to lose its natural thickness because of the many hours he spends without sleep and the anxiety he feels when he thinks about Harry's own anxiety. It's an ongoing cycle of stress that they can't seem to escape.

"Hey, Louis. I've seem to have taken a hold of an awful stomach flu and am recovering. Thank you for asking. Have I missed any assignments at school?" Harry speaks, his voice neutral. It requires every ounce of Louis' self control to not squeeze the life out of Harry in relief right there. A stomach flu. Their secret is safe, for now.

"A few. We have just begun learning about cellular respiration in Biology, in fact-"

"Louis Tomlinson," A shrill voice pipes in next to him. He nearly jumps out of his skin. The color drains from Harry's face as he focuses on his mother.

Complete with an artificially-blonde bob of hair, glasses that point at the ends, and lipstick that is unnaturally red, Harry's mother is a walking Barbie. Louis is unable to find a thing on her body that has not been altered or touched up.

"Mrs. Styles. It's a pleasure to meet you," Louis gulps, desperately willing the guilt to stay out of his voice. He forces his lips to curve into a smile. "Harry and I were just discussing the school work he's missed. Actually, I was wondering if it would be acceptable if I came over later today to help Harry here catch up on notes."

His lungs are deprived of air as he realizes what he just offered. Harry's eyes look ready to fall out of his skull. Louis definitely wants to puke now.

Amazingly, Harry's mother loves the idea. Her red lips offer Louis a genuine smile.

"That would be very convenient, Louis! Oh, Harry's been having trouble making friends at school. He's just not familiar with the children in his advanced classes," She reveals, leaving Harry to shrink down into the cushioned pew.

Louis dismisses himself as the preacher asks for the congregation to sit for service, taking the man's voice as his cue to leave.

Service begins, but the words do nothing to stick with Louis as he's mentally kicking himself for his actions.

...

"You should have-" Louis grunts, his chest colliding with Harry's as Harry's back makes contact with the tree. He thrusts into the boy with difficulty as he struggles to support Harry's weight as well as his own.

"-told me you were sick. I thought the worst-" He makes his point with a hard thrust that has his hips smacking Harry's thighs.

"-thought you had left without me-" Harry's arms wrap around Louis' shoulders and suddenly he's the one offering comfort to Louis. The last time they had sex Louis was the one holding Harry, but the roles have changed.

"Don't do it again. Okay? Let me know, somehow, please-" He pleads until Harry is coming onto Louis' sweater and the dead leaves on the ground. Louis somehow manages to grab onto a branch beside Harry's head and hold on for dear life as he comes into Harry for the second time.

The branch is feebly attached to the tree. Louis curses its existence as they fall to the ground, broken branch still in hand. Harry gasps, his body attached to Louis' as they crumble together.

"I won't," Harry laughs as he sits on top of Louis, the sound measuring to something extremely out of place in the grim setting of the bare forest.

"And I'm not going anywhere without you," Harry promises.

...

"You didn't have to do this," Harry mumbles as he's scrawling out his own copy of Louis' notes. Louis kicks off his shoes and surveys Harry's room, interested in the simplicity of it. This is the first time he's even been in Harry's home, much less into his bedroom.

Harry's room hardly looks lived in. The walls are a plain grey to match the slightly-darker grey bedsheets. The only items of furniture present, besides the bed, are a small dresser and a bookshelf. No sign of pictures or posters hang on the bare walls. Louis feels nauseous with the thought of Harry not being allowed to express himself in his own room.

Louis makes his way to the bookshelf to inspect the choice of books Harry's acquainted himself with.

"1984? We had to read this in Literature, right?" Louis asks, ignoring Harry's words and instead picking up the book. He faintly remembers the cover, but never read the contents due to laziness.

Harry looks up from his place on the bed, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. It's one of my favorites," he smiles. Louis believes him, seeing the frayed ends of the spine and the amount of dog-eared pages.

"The ending was extremely disappointing," Louis complains. He knows this because of the summary on SparkNotes. "It was all a lie and no one significant survived."

"It was a merciless ending, you mean. People now seem too engrossed in a happy ending, but the beauty lies in the realistic quality of an unhappy one. Life doesn't always end the way people want," Harry explains absentmindedly. Louis puts the book back on the shelf, fully aware that the conversation has shifted from the fictional world of 1984.

"I like it when you talk literature to me," He teases instead of fretting over Harry's negative outlook on life. Harry hastily shoots his head up in fear before remembering that his mother is at the store. His shoulders visibly relax.

"Do you honestly think we'll get out of here?" Harry asks, his voice suddenly small. The notes are temporarily forgotten.

Louis plops down on the bed, his back cushioning the fall. He turns to Harry as he runs a nervous hand through his hair.

"I sure hope so. I'll die trying," Louis answers honestly. He doesn't mention the small probability of them evading the militia even if they make it as far as England.

This answer pleases Harry. He smiles and chews on the end of Louis' pen.

"Me too."

...

"Harry...." Louis whimpers as he rocks slowly into the boy. He savors the feeling of Harry around him, engulfing his cock in heat. He desperately depends on Harry's touch to distract him from the paranoid feeling he's been stuck with since the boy disappeared for four days.

Harry's grip on his thighs is to the point of causing pain, his nails creating temporary crescents into Louis' skin.

"I miss this. It's only been two weeks, but I've fucking missed this," Harry breathes, his hips jutting down onto Louis'. Louis holds onto Harry like he will drift away if he doesn't.

"We'll be able to do this everyday in England. Whenever we want, anytime," Louis promises as he presses kisses to Harry's lips between his words. There's sticks digging into his back and dirt on his thighs, but the moment is perfect. The intimate contact offers an escape from the world they live in.

"I've been thinking..." Harry pants. Is he really trying to have a conversation with Louis buried inside of him? "...and part of the reason Winston and Julia didn't have a happy ending is because they didn't know love. They knew- fuck, Lou- sex, sure, I agree, it's great-"

Louis gives a particularly deep thrust into Harry's prostate, sending the boy into a daze. He picks up where he left off when he's able to form words.

"But they weren't capable of an emotion such as love. And that's why we're different. That's why we will escape and make love everyday in England and have a happy ending. I love you, Louis, and-"

"I love you," Louis finishes for him. The intimacy in Harry's eyes, the hope that lies in the sea of green, has Louis coming undone.

...

"Hey, babe," Harry chants with a widespread grin plastered onto his face. Louis finds himself pinned with his back against the tree and his front attacked by Harry's lips. "I got us something."

It's then that Louis responds with equal passion, taking control of the situation with gentle caresses of Harry's face in his hands. Harry presses his erection on Louis' thigh and it takes a good five minutes of sensually kissing for Louis to realize that the item is not an erection after all.

It's a wine bottle.

"Harry! Did you spend your money on that?" Louis asks, worried that their plan for escape has been hindered by this bottle of wine. It's romantic, it genuinely is, but they'll have plenty of time for drinking in England.

"Nope. I stole it from Mr. Harvey. It's the good stuff, too. Probably as old as the man himself," Harry grins, not letting reason into his head. Louis feels a headache approaching.

"Harry, this is dangerous. Mr. Harvey already has suspicions about us and if he catches you..." He doesn't need to continue. The old man already possesses bitter feelings towards Louis and Louis doesn't dare think about the incident on Sunday when he witnessed Harry's affectionate greeting upon seeing Louis outside.

"Okay, okay," the younger boy surrenders. Louis offers up a quick peck to let Harry know that he isn't mad, just sincerely anxious. He's been having that particular feeling of anxiety for days now; the sex they had under the bridge planted a seed of insecurity inside of him. Louis walks the streets of his town now believing that, somehow, the contact he made with Harry's body is on display, a massive sign revealing his sexuality. He can't shake the nagging part of him that is screaming at him to run for safety.

"We're still going to drink it, though, right?" Harry grins, showing off his dimples. Louis ruffles his hair and playfully shoves the boy away from his chest.

"Of course we are," He responds, already leading Harry deeper into the woods and into the ebony darkness that surrounds them and promises safety.

...

Louis runs his hand through Harry's curls, his head resting on Harry's chest and his legs intertwined with the boy's.

Before he can stop himself, a yawn escapes his stained lips, the wine darkening the natural pink shade to a vivid red. Louis is at peace for once, physically tired from the sex they just had and mentally at rest in Harry's presence.

"Go to sleep," Harry suggests. He kisses Louis' head, nuzzling into his fluffy hair. Louis immediately protests.

"What? No! We're in the woods, Harry, and it's time-"

"Shhhh..." Harry shuts him up with a kiss on the lips. He tastes like wine. "It's only midnight. If you go to sleep now, you can have four hours. I know you've had trouble with sleeping, Lou, but maybe if we were together..."

Louis understands his point. In fact, Louis knows that he would be able to sleep if he slept next to Harry. There's no doubt in his mind, knowing how his heart is able to relax with Harry's steady heart beat next to him. He would be asleep in minutes.

"But-"

"I'd stay awake, of course. Just sleep, Louis. It's okay. Let me take care of you for once. Don't you trust me?" Harry adds a certain element of betrayal in his voice. Tricky bastard. Of course Louis trusts him. Louis would thrust his life into the boy's hand without a second thought. Hell, in a way he already has with his heart. Harry knows this, he is just playing on Louis' instinct to make Harry happy.

"Okay," he reluctantly agrees. "You'll wake me up if you hear anything?" He asks, putting emphasis on anything.

Harry taps his watch with his index finger.

"Yes, now goodnight."

...

An ear-piercing scream rings throughout the otherwise silent night. Louis awakens with a jolt, jumping at the flock of crows that fly hysterically off of the large oak they were perched on. He absentmindedly remembers his teacher mentioning that crows didn't fly in flocks. The proper term for a group of crows is a murder.

He sighs, dismissing the scream to be an effect of the nightmare he experienced. His arms lazily reach for Harry, but he instead makes contact with the cold, bare ground.

"Harry?" Louis whispers, his heart threatening to lurch out of his chest as he pushes himself up on his elbows. They pop as he moves the bones, hinting to the long amount of time he spent sleeping. How long was he out? Thirty minutes? Two hours? Four? More? The sky is still absent from any light, so it hasn't been long enough for morning to dawn on them.

An additional scream in the distance registers with Louis now that he is awake and not in a sleep-influenced daze. He's on his feet in a swift movement, wine bottle in hand. His vision is blurred and clouded with black spots as his body rejects the sudden movement. He sprints through the forest while desperately attempting to not run face first into a tree.

Louis was asleep a minute ago, but he is conscious now. He knows that they've been found. Harry has been taken and is facing the consequences of their forbidden love. Anger pulses through his veins as he hears another scream, this one quieter than the others. He's dying. Louis feels the life drain out of Harry as if in a dream. They have the nerve to touch _his_ boy.

This is a game to them and the only way to win is to obey their leaders and murder innocents for the golden sticker of a star they receive in return.

He follows the cries until they come to an abrupt halt. Louis might just throw up the wine he and Harry sipped, what? Hours ago? They didn't consume enough to become drunk. Louis thanks his past sensibility for claiming that a missing wine bottle and a drunk Harry would be highly suspicious to Mr. Harvey.

Louis realizes that he's running in the direction of Harry's house. They took him to Harry's own home to murder him. The thought sets his teeth on edge.

His feet come to a halt as he reaches the tree line. The tip of Harry's roof is just in sight, but that's not why he stopped.

The raging fire that reaches towards the sky in a grasp that is probably equivalent to ten feet is the cause of his abrupt stop.

The fire is a result of fireworks, he notices, as his eyes land on the crackling objects in the hand of a man beside the flame.

The body hanging from the tree on the other side of that fire brings Louis to his knees.

It's too late. The two men laughing and chuckling under the body have succeeded. Louis is left with no cards to deal or fold; he's entirely empty as tears brew in his eyes and smoke fills his lungs.

Harry is dead.

...

The wine bottle, heavy in his hand, practically screams out an alarm in his mind. Suddenly Louis knows what events occurred to lead them to this horrific ending consisting of tears and fire.

Mr. Harvey had suspected them from the day he saw them acknowledging each other on the porch. He saw Harry steal the wine bottle and alerted the Russian militia without further hesitation. Louis faintly suspects that the old man could have even seen them through window the day that he helped Harry with schoolwork. He can't, for the life of him, remember if the shades were open or closed.

Louis takes one last look at his love's limp body strung up on a noose and then heads to Mr. Harvey's home, revenge fueling his rage like the fire that illuminates Harry's dead body.

...

Louis enters the old man's home through the back door, laughing at the stupidity the man possesses as he opens the unlocked door. The aching pain he feels longs for power. The repercussions he will face after this do not compare to the satisfaction that he will feel when Mr. Harvey is dead.

He creeps throughout the home until he comes across an ajar bedroom door, soft snoring filtering through the opening.

"Wake up," Louis commands as he approaches the foot of the bed, his voice loud enough to suspect a threat. Mr. Harvey murmurs a weak protest, but he doesn't realize the danger he's in yet.

Louis' fingers wrap around the shotgun barrel, the weapon perched against the headboard.

"Fucking wake up!" Louis shouts this time, clicking the safety of the gun off and pointing it at the old man. All he sees is red, Harry's body being strung up and nipped at by the flames, and the laughing faces of the militia as they take pride in what they've done.

Mr. Harvey jerks awake, his bones weak with age. His eyes widen at the sight in front of him.

"Louis Tomlinson?" He recognizes. The smell of alcohol is fresh in the air. "What are you doing here?"

"Why did you turn us in- you turned him in- he was innocent- you're going to pay..." Louis mutters, insanity pulling him under and using his anger as a rope to guide him into hell.

"Wha-" The man begins before he notices the wine bottle in Louis' free hand. It would be convenient for Louis to set it down and hold the gun with both hands, but he physically cannot part from the object that Harry stole for the two of them. "Is that my wine bottle?"

His voice suggests that he hadn't noticed it missing. Louis knows better, he is aware of the lies that surround him and choke him-

"Don't play innocent. I asked a question." Louis is shocked with the amount of venom in his voice. The gun shakes in his hand, but he dismisses it as his single hand's incompetency to hold a gun by itself. The anger is roaring in his ears and he's crying for the loss of the only thing worth living for and the anger at the people that took him away from Louis.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mr. Harvey explains, his hands not moving above his head in surrender. In fact, he doesn't look scared at all.

"You saw Harry and I together and you turned us in. You are spiteful and arrogant and I hate you; I hate all of you," Louis cries, his tears blurring his line of sight. He can't withhold the consistent flow of the water in his eyes. He can't control the anger that he feels.

"I didn't turn anyone in! I hate the government just as much as you do! I noticed you and Harry, yes, but-"

"Prove it." Louis' voice of reason breaks through and it's amazing that his finger doesn't yank down on the trigger as the old man gets to his feet. Instead, he follows Mr. Harvey down the hall of the house while keeping him down range.

He tears his eyes away from the line of sight long enough to see that they've stopped in front of a picture. It's black and white, of course, two boys standing in front of the camera with large smiles on their faces. One stares obediently at the camera, but the other is distracted by the boy next to him. Mr. Harvey's wrinkly finger points to the boy looking at the other.

"That's Neal Donald. And-" His direction shifts to the boy looking at the camera. "-that's me."

Louis isn't understanding how this relates to the fact that Harry is dead. His body is hanging on a tree outside and Louis is staring at an old photo of brothers.

"Why are you showing me your brother?" He voices his thoughts.

Mr. Harvey fucking laughs. Louis' heart is hammering angrily in his ear.

"Neal wasn't my brother," the man sighs, his voice suddenly becoming small. "He was my boyfriend."

The beating stops. Louis couldn't have heard right. Boys with boyfriends don't survive in the place they live in. He's always known that. Louis knew that their love would be the death of him, yet, he continued anyway. It's his fault Harry is dead, his own fault-

"My brother caught Neal and I one day, embracing. You know how bad homosexuality is now, so just imagine how it was sixty years ago. He threatened to turn us in if it continued, but I didn't listen..." Mr. Harvey shutters as memories wash over him. He seems distraught over the recollection and for a brief moment Louis feels sorry for him. That moment is slaughtered with the vision of Harry's dead body.

"My brother turned Neal in, but knew that the proper way of punishing me was to let me live. I knew that it was my fault for Neal's death, hell, I didn't even warn him about my brother's threat..."

My fault. The familiar words stab through Louis like a knife and he finds himself lowering the gun.

"Wait. Louis, where is Harry?" Mr. Harvey asks quietly. Louis suspects that he already knows the answer.

"Dead." The word settles into Louis' stomach like rocks and suddenly Louis wants to jump into a river and sink. The overwhelming reality of the situation is too much; he can't think straight enough to decide if Mr. Harvey is telling the truth or not. Harry is dead, his lovable boy that gave the world everything when it deserved nothing is dead. His heart will never beat again and Louis will never get the thrill of looking into his eyes as they meet in the woods during the dead of the night.

The anger that made him high and protected him from the pain looming over him vanishes, leaving him broken and fragile.

Mr. Harvey's eyes brim with tears, the ghost of his past coming to haunt him. Louis is numb.

"I-" The old man begins, but he's cut off by a sharp cry from outside the home. The sound shoots through Louis like electrical currents.

"Please tell me you heard that too," he whispers, afraid of the insanity that he will most likely become acquainted with soon.

Mr. Harvey's eyes widen to the point of falling out of his head. Louis knows then that he isn't going crazy.

The sound belonged to Harry.

He's out the door within moments, dropping the gun irresponsibly and nearly tripping over his own feet. Louis' stomach does flips as he stops at the tree line.

The hanging body is still very much dead. That much is true.

However, the body doesn't belong to Harry.

Louis cries out without meaning to as his eyes settle on his boy on the ground at the foot of the two men in uniforms. Three pairs of eyes settle on him as he slaps his hand over his mouth.

"Louis, run!" Harry shouts as a foot connects with his stomach.

Louis doesn't know how he is alive, but he'll be damned if he questions it.

"Go home!" One of the men calls out. Louis wants to rip the man's heart out and laugh as he takes away his ability to love. He should make him experience the terror of loving illegally yet not having the self control to stop.

"I should suggest the same to you," Louis growls, and then he's jetting out towards the men. He catches the sight of blood on Harry's head as he barrels into the two men. Their arms catch him, because of course they do.

He thrashes in their hold and puts up a fight big enough to force both men to restrain him. A fist nips his jaw and Louis can faintly register the taste of blood. The pain ignites his fury, though, and he bites and scratches the hell out of them. Louis Tomlinson is no fair fighter.

As his body is thrown to the ground and a hand wraps around his throat, Louis sees that Harry has crawled away safely. The men look at him as if he's a crazed monkey and there's black clotting his vision, but Louis has won.

Harry will escape far enough to reach Mr. Harvey's home and, hopefully, the old man will shelter him there. Mr. Harvey lost the battle he fought, but maybe he'll help them in theirs. As his mouth is filling with blood and his throat is constricted, Louis trusts him. He has to, because they can't fight the entire government on their own. Louis knows that he's dying and needs to do so with the image of a happy, healthy Harry in his mind.

As he's closing his eyes for the last time in his life, Louis realizes that he made a mistake. His and Harry's love isn't the same as Winston and Julia's, but their reality is. They tried hiding their love to no avail. The grim part of the similarities is that Winston knew that he would die. He knew that he was different from everyone else, and was sure that he'd die for it. Winston wasn't wrong in the end, and the reader didn't listen to him in the beginning. Louis knew that being gay is equivalent to death in the world they live in, but he continued anyway. His death is not a new concept for him. He didn't listen to himself.

He looses consciousness for the second time that night, the lack of oxygen too much for his body to handle while awake. This time, though, he gives into the darkness knowing that Harry is safe.

...

"Holy hell, he's breathing," Louis hears as he's gripping onto consciousness. The voice resembles Harry's, but right now every sound Louis hears seems distorted, as if he's underwater.

He coughs as a hand holds onto the back of his neck. There's a thin layer of sweat coating his skin despite the cold air.

"I-" Louis croaks, his throat painful like he swallowed razor blades.

"Shhh... don't talk. Don't say anything, just try to focus on breathing." The voice definitely belongs to Harry. Louis opens his eyes to see the boy hovering over him, his warm breath in Louis breath. There's tears residing in the green of Harry's eyes.

Louis reaches to wipe the dried blood off of the side of Harry's head, his thumb brushing off the flakes. He doesn't know how he's alive. He can't remember what happened at first, but then-

"You're okay," Harry coaxes as Louis startles himself into a sitting position. Harry was dead, he recalls; his body was hung onto a tree by a noose. Although, Louis sees the vision of Harry being beaten on the ground flash through his eyes; the memory of the warmth of the fire as his own body is thrown to the ground.

"The body..." Louis croaks, his throat protesting in a shout of pain. Mr. Harvey appears in his peripheral vision with a glass of water. Louis gulps it down greedily, his senses coming to life as he drains the cup.

He recognizes the scene of Mr. Harvey's home. The last time he was here consisted of him trudging through the house with tears in his eyes and anger radiating from his pores, but he caught enough of the sight to remember it. Louis is on the dusty couch.

"The one in the tree? That was one of the men that took me," Harry provides. "I heard their voices and footsteps just as you had fallen asleep. I knew who they were and that they wanted us and, I know you'll be mad at me, but I left you there and ran past them. It was enough for them to chase after me and leave you alone. They hadn't seen us before I ran, but they were heading towards our direction and I couldn't let them get you. I couldn't. Don't look at me like that. You would have done the same thing!" Harry scolds as Louis frowns at his heroic tale. Louis was the one that was supposed to protect Harry, not the other way around. Instead, he was the weak one that slept while Harry was offering himself up to the militia.

"They caught me, of course; you've seen me run in gym. There were three of them and they all had weapons, but I had to do something. I was cornered. The smallest man caught my eye, and I could tell by the way he was being ordered around that he was the lowest in command. It was a terrible thing to do, but I cried out for him and acted as if we had something going on. I claimed to be having a fling with him. The other two guys, they didn't even hesitate to-" A shiver runs through Harry's body. Louis pulls him to his chest.

"He was the one in the tree. Not me. When you diverted their attention by running into them, I scrambled away. I'm so sorry. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, leaving you. I'm sorry..." Harry sniffs. The boy's hand is attached to Louis' hip, right over a bruise from a man's foot, but Louis only holds him tighter and grits his teeth.

He's surprised at the sound of Mr. Harvey's voice.

"Harry ran away to help. He knew that he wouldn't be able to help you if you two were both captured. It was a noble thing to do," The old man explains. Louis wonders if the old, drunken personality was just an act. There's no clue to his words, no redness in the man's eyes.

"I had grabbed the gun when you dropped it- thanks for that," the man says sarcastically. "I found Harry while I was chasing you. He told me where you were, and let's just say that what I did to those men was the most satisfying thing I've ever done."

Mr. Harvey disappears from the room after that, leaving the two boys alone and scared.

"I love you. No matter what happens, I love you," Louis declares, his fingers lightly tracing intertwining lines on Harry's back. The shapes are infinity symbols.

"And I love you. We survived the worst of it; we just have to push a little more. We'll have a happy ending," Harry says with enough certainty for Louis to believe it. He kisses the side of Harry's head that isn't wounded.

"You scared me so much, Louis. I thought you were dead by the time we got to you. I don't know what I'd do if-"

"Shh," Louis shushes this time. "I'm alive. I'll be okay. We'll be okay." He doesn't spare time to think about the small moments when he believed that Harry was dead.

"Mr. Harvey said that you passed out. I passed out, too, when they were hitting me." A light clicks on in Louis' head as he realizes that he didn't notice Harry on the ground at first glance because Harry was unconscious and unmoving.

Mr. Harvey returns with a stuffed duffel bag in his hand. He tosses it at Louis' feet.

"There's money in there, enough to last for a while. I put clothes in there, too, though they won't fit nicely. I didn't have many bottles of water, but there's a few in there. You'll need to head west. I have a relative in a town somewhat close to here. I've circled the town on the map inside the bag. He'll help you until you're well enough to travel. As soon as you're able, get out of the country. Live your lives together to the fullest, because I'm afraid that you've used eight of your nine lives." Harry sits up and takes Louis' hand, his eyes wide. Louis is also shocked.

"We can't take your mon-"

"Well, I'm not going to use it. Just go; the gunshots were probably enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. You two should have left a long time ago." Louis stands to his feet despite the pounding in his head and lugs the bag over his shoulder, grunting at the pain that sparks from his stiff muscles.

"Come with us. They'll kill you if you stay," he pleads as he pulls Harry to his feet. Harry's fingers loop through his. Mr. Harvey's eyes lock on their hands and sadness creeps throughout his features.

"Oh, but they killed me a long time ago."

...

After thanking Mr. Harvey profusely and engaging in a long hug, Louis and Harry leave the house as the sun is rising. Louis looks to the boy at his side, surprised to see a smile on Harry's face.

"Why are you smiling?" He questions as they walk hand in hand into the woods, following the directions given to help them escape. Harry sighs.

"They claim that we're sick," Harry chuckles and brings Louis' hand to his mouth to kiss the skin there. Louis doesn't doubt that everything will be okay as long as they're together.

"But I love it."

**Author's Note:**

> One of the author's twitter is @craictown so talk to us on there if ya please. (the other author's twitter has school followers and let's be honest, we'd be harassed for this lmao)


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